


The Price of Capture

by naughty_sock



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Gang Rape, Groping, Rapists Competing To Make Victim Orgasm, unexpected tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23597659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughty_sock/pseuds/naughty_sock
Summary: Rona's stomach lurched as her carriage raced over another bump in the road. Her ladies-in-waiting clutched each other's hands on the seat opposite her. No one spoke. All of them listened with trepidation to the rapid hoofbeats that were chasing them… that were coming closer.
Relationships: Conquering Soldiers/Conquered Princess, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 10
Kudos: 113
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	The Price of Capture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redcandle17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcandle17/gifts).



Rona's stomach lurched as her carriage raced over another bump in the road. Her ladies-in-waiting clutched each other's hands on the seat opposite her. No one spoke. All of them listened with trepidation to the rapid hoofbeats that were chasing them… that were coming closer.

Anisa, who was Rona's senior by ten years, was crying quietly, and Tellai, the youngest among them, had turned so pale that her face looked ashen amidst the dark curls of her hair.

Rona reminded herself that she could not allow herself the luxury of showing her own distress. She was their princess, destined, one day, to become their queen. She must lead by example, she must maintain her composure no matter how dire the situation.

The sudden whack of an arrow made them jump.

Rona's heart leaped into her throat, and when the sound was followed by the dull thud of a body toppling from their carriage's perch and a marked decrease in their speed, she felt her palms grow damp and fisted them in her skirts.

Anisa whimpered. Tellai closed her eyes, hiding whatever emotions she felt.

 _Dread._ Rona hazarded a guess. It was certainly the foremost thing on her own mind.

A blur of brown horse and grey tunic flashed past her window.

When she leaned forward, she saw a soldier clad in the colors of her father's enemy reach for the carriage's dangling reins. A moment later, she was thrown forward as the horses slowed down abruptly. Her knees hit the floor and her face ended up in Tellai's skirts, but she had no time to feel the indignity of her position.

No sooner had she pushed herself upright than the carriage door was torn open.

 _He looks young._ That was the first thought that popped into her head as she looked up at the clean-shaven face of a man who was no older than she was herself.

But more than his youth, his lack of aggression surprised her even more. She had expected to find cruelty, or at the very least a vicious sense of triumph, reflected on his face, not the polite bewilderment with which he regarded her sprawled position on the carriage floor. "Your highness?"

Rona steeled herself, sat back on the floor in the manner of one taking a picnic in a summer meadow, and folded her hands demurely in her lap. If he was going to uphold a charade of civilized behavior amid this cowardly attack on her parents' kingdom, then so was she.

"What right do you have to stop this carriage and kill my driver?" she demanded.

The attempt to sounding imperious failed due to the fear tightening her chest, but she consoled herself with the fact that her voice, at least, was far more steady than she felt. It heartened her further to see her ladies-in-waiting straighten on their seat trying to project as much confidence as they were able.

For a moment, the young soldier looked discomfited. Rona had little trouble imagining that he had expected them to cower or sob, and it made her lift her chin further.

She was a princess. She cowered in front of no one.

"We have orders to return you to the castle, your highness." He stepped aside, opening the door further. "If you please."

The words were accompanied by his lifted hand offering to help her from her carriage. _A gallant gesture_ , she thought bitterly. _As if manners would make me forget that I'm a prisoner._

Hoping that her expression betrayed none of her thoughts, she placed her gloved hand in his and allowed him to steady her as she pulled herself off the floor and out onto the path.

The whinnying and panting of horses surrounded her, and a quick glance to either side confirmed that at least two score horseman had hunted them down. The carriage had come to a halt shortly before reaching the peak of a gently sloping hill, and while Rona saw a forest sprawling towards the seashore in the distance it was too far away to provide cover should she decide to run.

Instead, the rapidly fading sunlight cast its remaining rays onto the dark soil of harvested fields that had not yet been prepared for winter, and further down the road, a sheep meadow teaming with four-legged clouds that were more interested in the supple grass in front of them than the capture of a princess that was unfolding up the hill.

Rona envied them their simple lives.

She tried to ignore the curious stares of the soldiers and bestowed a reassuring smile on Anisa and Tellai. "Stay," she told them as they hesitated to follow her. To the young soldier, she continued, "Where is your commander?"

The boy flushed under her direct gaze but nodded towards the road.

Turning, Rona could not suppress the gasp that rose in her throat. Not because of the soldiers riding up or the person stumbling in front of them, but because of the red that tinted the sky behind them, the dark smoke that rose above the roofs and parapets of her hometown, and the sharp sting of fear that clawed at her heart.

 _Was the castle burning as well?_ she wondered. _Are my parents still fighting, or have they fallen like the soldiers who tried to protect me and my ladies?_

Emotions clogged her throat, and she fought against the traitorous burn of tears in her eyes.

She wasn't going to cry in front of them. She wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of seeing her break.

"Princess Rona."

Her attention was drawn to the tall figure addressing her from his seat atop a chestnut stallion that was impatiently champing at its bit. Blue eyes met her gaze, and Rona was startled to discover that the man wearing the red insignia of a commander on his tunic looked no older than the soldier who had helped her alight from her carriage.

 _Young bucks_ , she thought. _Eager to prove themselves, no doubt._ She was almost offended that her retrieval had not been entrusted to a more experienced party.

"I am she," Rona replied before her brain finally caught up with her eyes and she became aware of the person who had crumbled to their knees in front of her.

"Thomas," she exclaimed. Rushing forward, she knelt by the injured driver of her carriage. His once impeccably blue livery was stained with dirt and blood and an arrow pierced his shoulder.

"Forgive me, your highness," he hissed with a pain-filled expression. "I failed to see you safely to the shore."

"It is not your fault," she replied automatically as she pressed a clean handkerchief against his shoulder.

"He needs help!" she demanded impatiently of the commander. There was little a handkerchief could do to stem the flow of blood, and since Thomas had not been cut down but herded back to the carriage, she assumed that they had use for him yet.

The commander nodded towards one of the men standing behind her. "Thatch, get him back onto the perch."

"But he can't drive," she protested.

"There is nothing we can do for him here. If he doesn't try to pull the arrow out of his shoulder, he will make it back to town. A healer may look after him then."

"Your orders are to take us alive, then," she said quietly. It was a small consolation, but it gave her hope for both her family and herself. Should an opportunity to escape present itself, the soldiers would hesitate to shoot her down with their arrows the way they might a fleeing deer. It was something to keep in mind.

A grim smile accompanied the commander's reply. "My orders are to return you to the castle. Nothing was said about your companions and servants, though I do not make a habit of killing were it isn't necessary. Your father's army has shed more than enough innocent blood. I will not add to that tally."

"My father is an honorable man," Rona said hotly before she could stop herself. "I will not listen to you befoul his name."

She expected him to react with anger to her declaration, but he only shook his head. "I have no doubt you believe what you say, your highness, and it's not up to me to convince you otherwise. We will return you to the castle. What happens to you afterward is not my concern."

A chill swept through her at his words, but she pushed it aside.

As a young man with sandy hair stepped past her to help Thomas to his feet, she darted forward. "Wait. If your orders say nothing about those who accompanied me then let them go."

"We can't leave you behind," Tellai exclaimed.

"No, milady."

Though it hartened her that both Tellai and Anisa protested her plan, she resolutely kept her back to them. She had no power to fight off an invading army on her own, and even if the men would hesitate to hurt her there was little chance that she might escape on her own, let alone with three others in tow, one of whom was injured. Bargaining for the safety of those in her service was the only power she had left.

"Let them go and I promise I will not give you any trouble."

The commander considered her with a steady gaze. "You will do as you're told?"

Rona forced herself to breathe evenly. She couldn't help but feel that her next words would seal her fate, that she was about to step onto a path without return. _A prisoner_ , she thought dejectedly. _Returned to my own home in shackles._

"I give you my word."

* * *

By the time the carriage disappeared behind the crest of the hill, night had fallen. Rona looked after it, wishing she was still sitting inside it. It occurred to her that she might never see her friends again and the thought sat heavily inside her chest.

"Come sit with us, your highness. You may not be here of your own free will, but there is no need to go hungry."

At the sound of the commander's voice, who'd introduced himself as Jor or Aargen, Rona turned toward the encampment which had sprung up while she'd said her goodbyes. Three bonfires spread their warmth through the rapidly cooling autumn night and while Jor had sent some of his men into the woods to hunt, the rest of them had tended to their horses and laid out their bedrolls as close to the fire as they could.

Jor had informed her that they would not return to the castle until daybreak as they did not wish to jeopardize her safety by riding onto a battlefield in the middle of the night. Too high was the risk of an ambush or, worse, to be mistaken for the enemy by their own people.

Instead of being dismayed by the news, Rona had decided to regard it as a blessing in disguise. The longer it took Jor to take her back, the more time she had to plan her escape.

She sat down next to him on the fallen trunk of a tree and accepted the food and drink he gave her.

Thatch and Brand, the soldier who had stopped her carriage, grouped around her. Even though they were her captors, she could detect no malice from them. They treated her like a lady and made every effort to make her comfortable, even handing her a blanket to sit on and a cloak to wrap around her so she would stay warm.

They didn't press her for information but regaled her with stories of their training, consideredly staying away from any accounts of the battles they had fought against her own people. As the evening wore on, she found herself pretending that she was not a captive surrounded by enemy soldiers, but a girl accompanying her cousins to their parent's hunting camp, when the day's spoils were roasting above a roaring fire, the wine flowed freely, and the courtiers danced while minstrels beat their drums and plucked their string, filling the night with their merry tunes.

She was roused from her thoughts by a soldier raising his voice in song, and as more and more of the young men around her chimed in, telling the story of a poor country boy winning the favor of a princess through valor and victory that she'd had heard her own people sing around campfires since she'd been a little girl, she wondered how all this conflict had come to pass, how voices of reason could have been silenced to the extend that decent people resorted to bloodshed.

"You are so pretty," a light voice said next to her.

Rona blinked in surprise at Thatch, who was regarding her with reddened cheeks and sparkling eyes.

"Why, thank you," she replied cautiously. It was a bit improper for him to remark on her appearance, but up till now his behavior had given her no cause for concern, so she decided to let his remark pass without rebuke.

"I've never seen a lady as pretty as you," he continued, and Rona suspected that he'd had a bit too much to drink if the heightened color of his cheeks and the fact that he was addressing her chest rather than her face was any indication. "Never seen such pretty breasts before."

Rona blinked at him in shock while her brain struggled with the outrageous compliment. Thatch lifted a hand and gently cupped one of her breasts through the fabric of her dress. "So soft," he whispered and his eyelashes fluttered as if the fact that he was touching her excited him enough to teeter on the threshold of ecstasy.

Rona jerked back and closed her cloak as whistles and hollers rose from the soldiers around her.

From one moment to the next, any comfort, any tenuous sense of safety she had felt, was stripped away.

"Don't touch me," she snapped.

"Oh, let him have his fun, your highness," Jor said carelessly. "He's never touched a woman's breast before, and he's right, yours is a pretty as a picture."

As she stared up at him with horrified eyes, he shrugged. "You did promise to do as you're told."

Cold shivered down her spine as an excited murmur ran through the group of men.

"Is this the price for the lives of my servants, then?" she challenged him.

Jor gave her an indulgent look. "Thatch just wants to touch. He won't harm you. You have my word."

A word she would be foolish to trust. She looked around at the soldiers smiling and jostling each other in the firelight, the way their eyes trailed along her body. It was chilling how quickly a group of singing young men had transformed into a pack of hungry hounds.

Jor gave Thatch an encouraging nod. "Go on then."

Thatch gave her a shy smile and reached for her breasts again.

That was the worst of it, she decided... his smile. It looked almost innocent in its simple joy and curiosity as he palmed her breasts with both hands, squeezed them gently, and brushed his thumbs across the line where the fabric ended, revealing her skin.

"So beautiful," he whispered again, and then he buried his face against her chest and rubbed his cheek back and forth against the embroidered silk covering her bust.

"She smells nice, too," he sighed.

Rona stared straight ahead and didn't dare to move. Her hands fisted in her skirts.

"Let me see." Another man knelt down next to Thatch and pulled him back by the shoulder. He was younger than Thatch, barely above his majority, if she had to guess, and carried that same bright-eyed look of curiosity that appalled her.

His hands replaced Thatch's, bigger and stronger, his touch rough as he kneaded her breast.

"Let's make this easier for all of us." Jor suddenly stepped behind her, and before Rona could react, she heard the snick of a blade pulling against its scabbard. Her cloak was pulled from her shoulders, and suddenly her chest was no longer confined by her dress as Jor cut through the fastenings at her back. Her camisole was unceremoniously cut away as well, baring her to the men's hungry gaze. Low wolf whistles and self-conscious, excited laughter rumbled through the camp.

She protested, demanding her release, but Jor caught her arms and pulled them behind her back. His hold was not cruel but firm enough that she understood the threat of cruelty behind it.

"Just let the boys sate their curiosity, princess," Jor told her gently. "They're not hurting you, are they?" To the soldiers, he continued, "you heard me, men. No harm is to come to her. Treat her with care."

Another man knelt between her knees. His callused hands covered her small breasts and he groaned with appreciation. "So soft. Fuck, Jor. Her skin is so soft."

He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, teased them with ever-tightening circles before he plucked them gently between his fingertips. "So pretty," he murmured.

Another man replaced him, and another after that. Rona stared resolutely into the fire as she endured their touch. Her nipples grew hard under their attention, and it wasn't long before she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from making any sound.

 _I am the daughter of a king,_ she reminded herself. _They will not break me._

The next man didn't content himself with touching her. Though he covered her breasts with his palms and squeezed them once, his hunger demanded a different boon. Rona's entire body jerked when he wrapped his lips around one of her sensitive buds and the warm, wet heat of his mouth enveloped her.

A sudden, sharp pull ran through her legs, curling her toes and fanning a decidedly unwelcome heat in her abdomen.

A whimper escaped her without warming.

The man made a hungry, humming sound and exposed her wet nipple to the cold air as he latched onto the other.

Rona sank her teeth into the fleshy part of her cheek until she tasted blood. Her pantalets felt damp against the apex of her thighs.

The man suckled her, his tongue doing what countless fingers had done before, flicking across her tight nipple and brushing it with soft, wet strokes.

It felt good.

Rona swallowed a sob. This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to feel good.

When he finally released her and the next man took his place she felt feverish.

"Oh, look at the flush in those cheeks," a black-haired man said as he walked up to her. A scar marred his left cheek and Rona watched with horror as he palmed his exposed erection in his hand. "I think she's starting to enjoy herself."

His announcement was met by laughter and Rona felt heat rising into her cheeks. She tried to glare at him, the way a princess ought to do, to let him know that he was beneath her, that his callous enjoyment of her predicament did not touch her, but another mouth suckled at her tit, another hand rolled her nipple and she could do little more than grit her teeth and pray that the soldiers would tire of their sport.

The scarred man knelt with his knees on either side of her leg so as not to distract his friend from his enjoyment. He leered at her as he ran his hands over her ankle, lifting her skirts. Rona tried to shy away, but Jor pulled her upright by her upper arms. "Easy now, princess. He just wants to know if he's right. He's just going to see if all this adoration is making you wet."

 _Adoration!?_ She wanted to scream at him, wanted to spit the word in his face. Their molestation might have been gentle, but claiming it stemmed from any regard of her was perverse.

She stilled, but could no longer meet the man's gaze. Even the fire held no comfort for her. The scarred soldier's hand traveled up her leg and pulled open the fastenings of her pantalets, and she knew exactly what he would find once his fingers drifted down between her legs.

She looked away when his touch met her heated skin. Shame burned through her, hotter than the treacherous desire her body felt.

He twisted his wrists and found the wetness at her core. A low whistle escaped him. "Oh, she likes it alright."

"Is she wet?" a voice asked eagerly.

"How does she feel?" another called out.

"Soft," the scarred man said. "Supple and ripe. Oh, I wish I could taste you, sweetheart. I bet your cunt would be even sweeter than your tits."

"Go ahead," Jor replied. "See if you can make her come."

"No," Rona twisted away from him in shock. She didn't want this. It was bad enough that her body reacted at all, but the thought of falling apart under their hands and mouths... how would she live with the shame of it? "You promised," she wailed. "You promised that I would not be harmed."

"And you're not hurting, princess." Oh, he sounded so sincere. So puzzled by her outrage. "It feels good, doesn't it? Being touched and worshipped like that? All our attention just for you."

"It doesn't," she cried. "It doesn't feel good, and I want you to stop. Please stop. Just stop."

At least struggling lessened the pull in her abdomen. Straining against Jor's hold on her arms made it feel less good, made it easier to ignore the pleasure of another mouth on her tit.

Jor knelt behind her and looped his arms around her waist trapping her own arms behind her back. She felt his breath against her ear as he rucked up her skirts and lifted her so the scarred man could pull her pantalets down.

"If it doesn't feel good, then we're not doing our job right. Come on boys, let's see who can make her come. Corvin, pick another tune for us. Each one will get a turn."

One of the men started singing again. His voice rose sweet and strong, a slow, sultry melody forming around words of passion and innuendo and absurdly, _mockingly_ , words of longing and love. Rona didn't know the song, but more and more voices fell in until the song drowned out her ragged breaths. Jor and another man held her legs apart, while the scarred man ran his fingers through her folds. He licked her nipples, tasting them as if sampling fruit fresh from an orchard.

He parted her folds and Rona's thighs twitched when he brushed against the sensitive bundle of nerves nestled between them. There wasn't anything she could do to stop him. He fondled her, dipped his head to taste her, while nearly forty men watched his every move with the same hunger in their eyes that she saw burning in him. The first verse of the song ended and the next man took his place. His mouth and his fingers worked her pussy until she was quivering from his touch. He didn't make her come by the time the next vers ended and he had to make room for another man, but she knew that it was only a matter of time.

A mouth suckled at her breast. A finger was pushed inside her. Lips fastened around her clit. Another finger spread her open further. Another verse began. Heat coiled in her stomach and her eyes burned as if her tears contained acid rather than water.

It didn't hurt. _That_ was the worst part. Rona kept thinking that if only it hurt, she would be able to fight her body, but their mouths were gentle on her skin, their fingers filled her deep and slow, curling and twisting inside her until she thought she would lose her mind. She had no idea how many men touched her.

Her breasts were wet with their saliva, and when the song forced them to pull their hands from between their tighs their fingers were coated with her slick.

It was a sandy-haired youth who made her come. He had two fingers buried inside her, his thumb rubbing rapidly across her clit while he nuzzled the soft skin of her tits and let her feel the barest hint of teeth against her nipple.

Rona pressed her lips into a hard line and tried to stay quiet, but her legs jerked and her muscles clamped around his fingers as if her body didn't want to let them go.

Jor must have felt her tense because he shouted and slapped his fellow soldier's back.

"Well done, Sam. Look at her, all glassy-eyed and boneless." He condescendingly patted Rona's head. "There you go, princess. You can' t tell me you didn't enjoy that."

The song ended abruptly as the men cheered for Sam.

Rona tried to catch her breath. Aftershocks were twitching through her body, and her brain felt too addled to think. She didn't resist when Jor reached around her waist and pulled her legs further apart exposing her wet core to anyone who could see.

"Go on. Take your, price, Sam. Not everyone gets to feel what it's like to have a princess wrapped around your cock."

Rona watched numbly as Sam undid the fastenings of his trousers. Her pleasure drowned-brain took in the way he palmed his length and shuffled forward until he kneeled between her legs. She tried to close them, tried to twist away, but what was the point? There were forty of them and only one of her. 

Sam lined himself up and sank into her loose body with a slow and steady stroke, an expression of utter bliss on his face.

Jor laughed. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Feels amazing," Sam replied.

Rona turned her face away. She couldn't look at the pleasure on the man's face without feeling sick.

The way she was balanced on the edge of the tree sharpened the angle of his thrusts, but it also gave him hardly any leverage to work with, making his strokes shallow. The curve of his cock slid along her walls in a way that made her body twitch.

Sam came quickly, his muscles going rigid as he spilled himself inside her. Rona squirmed as his weight sank against her and he buried his face between her breasts.

"So good," he mumbled into her skin.

Against her better judgment, Rona glanced down to see him smile up at her with a glassy-eyed expression. She quickly looked away again.

"Did you enjoy that?" Jor asked softly.

She shook her head, her curls bouncing into her face with the violent motion. She'd didn't trust her voice, but she'd be damned to play his game. Just because she couldn't stop her body from reacting didn't mean her soul wasn't dying.

Jor pressed a gentle kiss to her temple.

"I bet we can make you come again. I bet if I let all my men have a turn, you'd be begging us to keep going before long. Believe me, princess, we can make you feel so good."

What was his game? Did he actually believe what he was saying? Or was it petty cruelty masked as compassion? Rona decided that it didn't matter. She was beyond caring for his motives.

"I won't believe anything. You broke your word," she hissed. "You are a man without honor and so are the soldiers under your command. Do your worst. Give me to your men. Let them have their sport, but you will get neither admissions nor forgiveness from me."

Silence reigned, and it took Rona a moment to realize that it wasn't just Jor who had grown quiet.

Where the soldiers had been chatting and joking with each other moments ago, they were standing in their loose circle around her and Jor, watching them without another word. Rona forced herself to meet their gaze and a vicious sort of satisfaction ran through her when she saw more than one of them shift uncomfortably from foot to foot and look away. More than enough remained who looked at her with hard, lust-glazed eyes, and she had no illusion that anyone would speak out or even rescue her from her fate, but she took what little comfort she could from their unease.

Thatch, in particular, blushed bright red when she stared him down and she didn't avert her gaze until he'd slunk out of sight behind the broad back of a fellow soldier.

A gentle pull between her legs shifted her attention to Sam who pulled his softening cock out of her cunt. He, too averted his eyes as he got to his feet, tugged himself back into his trousers, and hurried off to the side.

Jor gave her a light push, which still came so unexpectedly that she sprawled forward onto her hands and knees. She had barely regained her balance when he'd jumped over the tree trunk and kneeled behind her, shoving her skirts up over her ass.

"As you wish, your highness," he growled as he pushed his cock inside her without preamble. "No more games."

Her hands dug into the earth as he fucked her. Rona gritted her teeth. She was so wet from the men's teasing and her previous orgasm that the friction of his cock inside her had her body responding rather than rejecting his invasion.

She wouldn't make another sound. Even if she had to bite her tongue off, she wouldn't make a sound.

Like Sam, Jor came quickly, prove that for all his desire to be in charge, he had little control over his own body. His abrupt groan mixed with the renewed encouragement of his men, but he pulled out of her quickly and walked away, and Rona imagined that he had gotten little pleasure out of the encounter. She hoped her words, her defiance, had ruined the experience for him.

She looked up as the next man kneeled behind her. Apparently, her behavior had not only ruined Jor's enjoyment. There were significantly fewer soldiers standing around her than there had been before. 

Where she found uncertainty she stared it down until the man walked away, but there were many, too many, who stared right back, who found excitement in her defiance, and she knew that they would use her as they pleased before the night was over. From these, she looked away, not daring to tempt more violence into their actions than the use of her body already entailed.

She lost count of how many men took her by the firelight. Most of them came fast, chasing their own pleasure like a fox might chase a hare, but her body was stimulated by the relentless friction inside her body, the constant pressure against her sensitized nerves. A few men managed to maintain a rhythm long enough for her body to shudder and twist, her muscles to clench tightly around their stiff cocks as she climaxed two, three, four times, before the last man finally added his load to the come of a dozen others that ran down her thighs.

Her legs shook by the time she realizes that she'd been kneeling for at least a minute on her own without anyone new coming up behind her.

Exhaling softly, she pushed herself upright, wincing as her used muscles protested the motion. Her skirts fell down to cover her legs as she kneeled on the ground, and in an instinctive gesture of modesty she pulled the bust of her dress up to cover her breasts.

She wasn't alone, but the men had retreated to the other bonfires stretching out on their sleeping rolls or talking quietly to each other as they kept watch and drank from their flasks.

Rona allowed herself a moment to breathe. She could feel their eyes on her, watching her covertly while feigning disinterest. Would they allow her to escape? Could she just get up and walk out of the camp now or would Jor try to stop her?

She slowly got to her feet. No one approached her.

But when she walked toward the path, the top of her dress clutched to her bosom, two men stepped out of the shadows and shook their heads. They didn't put their hands on her, but their posture made it clear that she would not be allowed to pass.

She pressed her lips together. Tears were pricking at her eyes, but she resolutely blinked them away. She couldn't leave, but she also couldn't bear the thought of returning to the firelight. She couldn't go back to that place. She just couldn't.

A soft touch to her shoulder had her whirling around. Her stomach clenched in fear.

Thatch jumped back as if he were even more frightened than she was.

"Forgive me, your highness. I meant no har-" he broke off, evidently realizing how hollow his words were to her. His face, however, remained kind. "Come. There is a place by the stream that is private. You can clean yourself up and I'll help you tie your dress back together."

Plagued by indecision, Rona stared at him for a long moment. She didn't know if he'd been one of the men who'd raped her. The last she'd seen of him had been when he'd slunk away, but he could have come back afterward. She'd been in no position to notice who'd kneeled behind her to take his pleasure. And even if he had not, his compassion had certainly not extended to voicing disapproval or stopping his fellow soldiers from raping her.

In the end, her desire to clean herself of the men's filth overruled her objections.

She followed him to a narrow stream that gurgled down the hill and allowed him to hold her skirts while she tore off a strip from her underclothes and washed. The firelight was little more than a distant beacon in the night, leaving them only the soft, silvery rays of moonlight to see by.

Rona was surprised when Thatch pulled out needle and thread and began sewing up the back of her dress by feel alone. He babbled apologetically, about how all of them had had to learn how to mend their tunics and banners after battles and how he'd never really been any good at it and how it wouldn't look pretty, but still be serviceable, and how sorry he was that she had come to be here subjected to their rough manners.

Rona listened in silence, letting the sound of his voice wash over her, letting her mind drift on the currents of his words without really listening to them.

It was unexpectedly soothing, and as long as he was talking she didn't have to think about what the soldiers had done to her or what tomorrow would bring when they would take her back to a family that might have already been slaughtered. Or perhaps her mother and cousins had been subjected to the same fate that had befallen her? Perhaps her father had been forced to watch their degradation? She shuddered. No, it was best not to think about it.

"You are crying," Thatch said quietly and Rona jerked away when his fingertip brushed against the wetness on her cheek.

"I'm not," she said gruffly and lifted her chin.

His understanding gaze only made it worse.

"I'm not," she repeated, hating herself for the soft hiccup that accompanied her words. "I'm not."

She punched his chest, tried to shove him, but he just stood in front of her silent and unmoving, taking her blows. "I'm not. I'm not. I'm not crying, How dare you say that? How dare you?"

A sob escaped her raw throat. She stumbled forward, hitting him again as she fell to her knees. "I'm Princess Rona of Galinta. I do not cry because of petty little men and their petty little sport."

She didn't resist when Thatch knelt next to her and collected her shaking body in his arms. She hated herself for it, for her own weakness, for accepting the comfort he offered, for needing it, craving it with every fiber of her bruised soul, but she didn't push him away.

He rocked her silently as tears spilled down her cheeks and sobs shook her body. She burrowed deeper into his warmth, and by the time she'd quietened enough to hear the steady beat of his heart and feel the soothing way he caressed her back, she felt too exhausted to pull away.

She blinked drowsily into the darkness. "I'm not crying," she whispered hoarsely one last time.

"I know you're not," Thatch replied quietly. "You're much too strong for tears."

Rona nodded fiercely and wiped at her cheeks. "That's right. And don't you forget it."

"I won't."

He leaned back against the board trunk of an oak tree, and she sank further against his chest.

 _Just for a minute_ , she thought as her eyes fluttered shut. _I'll rest just for a minute, and then I'll find a way to escape._

She fell asleep.


End file.
